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Let me start off by
saying that those of you going here expecting to see Tyra Banks (or
even Piper Perabo) are in for a rude awakening. Those women make a
living by working out, eating right, conditioning and moisturizing.
The real women of Coyote Ugly make a living by drinking vast quantities
of caloric booze and staying out until 4 am every night. Alas, like
most real-life stories turned Hollywood fiction, the actors playing
the rolls of real people are far more palatable than the real people
themselves (otherwise, somebody like Larry Drake [Benny] from L.A.
Law would have played John Nash in A
Beautiful Mind.) Granted, we're not saying the ladies here are
by any means mentally challenged, but they are certainly not going
to be walking away with any seven-figure Revlon contracts in the near
future. Don't get me wrong, I don't really mean this as a slight against
the women working here (despite how it sounds); they are perfectly
lovely, but I'm just trying to separate fact from fiction. Let's move
on... This is one of those bars that feels as though you ought to
bring a stack of twenties with you, as you have more of a chance of
seeing naked boobs here than you do on your average late-night flip
through on Cinemax. Unfortunately, all the twenties in the world won't
get you a beer while the ladies behind the bar are on top of it dancing.
Yup, no service while the entertainment is going on. After their third
time dancing to that dreadful Sexbomb song, I thought I might track
down the DJ and slit him ear to ear with the sharp edge of my torn
PBR can. I don't know about the rest of you out there, but frustration
is not a big aphrodisiac for me. When I go to a bar, I want to hang
out and drink. If I want to go to a show to watch people dance (not
that this would ever happen), I'll put on a pair of my better jeans,
sit in my seat and shut the hell up. I don't know, the whole premise
of dancing on the damn bar just seems contrived and tired. There's
no feeling of spontaneity, just the feeling that these bartenders
are trying to milk the mostly male crowd for bigger tips. The patrons
who get up there seem to be doing it out a sense of drunken mischief
and/or blind intoxication. To illustrate this point, we saw three
heavy, middle-aged women climb on the bar and gyrate in unsavory ways
that made me embarrassed for my parents' whole generation. This isn't
a condemnation of these places as a whole, only a matter of preference.
There is certainly something to be said for these country western,
chicks on the bar, hootin' and hollerin' kind of joints. They cater
to the base creature in all of us that wants so badly to be able to
let go of our inhibitions and pretend for a night we don't work behind
a desk ten hours a day, shower every morning and obey the law to the
best of our abilities. It's just a shame this reckless abandon couldn't
be more organic. [MF]
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